


Intimate Knowledge

by kisssanitygoodbye, moodymarshmallow



Series: Like Attracts Like [13]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 07:18:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kisssanitygoodbye/pseuds/kisssanitygoodbye, https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodymarshmallow/pseuds/moodymarshmallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things Theron knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intimate Knowledge

**Author's Note:**

> written by Moodymarshmallow

He doesn’t look at anyone else like this, with sleepy morning eyes, all bleary blue, squinting through sunlight to see me next to him. And he’s relieved to see me, to have the intimate knowledge of my body warm against his, and he pulls me closer, buries his warm face in my neck and scrapes me with his scruff.

I wonder if anyone else sees how terrified he is, how small he is, how tight he holds me not because he wants me but because he needs me. I do. I feel it in the thump of his heart under my hand, the flutter of his pulse under my lips, and the bruises on my hips from when I rode him and he refused to let go.

I scare him. When I shift in bed in the morning he holds me down, and he needs a shave and a piss and he’s not letting me go until he has to, because I might just leave if he does. But I won’t leave, not when I can make him melt by cuddling up to him, my lips on his cheek, my eyes closed as I rest my forehead on his temple. He’s drunk on me, his blood hot, his mouth hungry when it seeks mine.

He says he needs me, and he thinks he means my body, but he doesn’t, it’s just easier for him to lie with his hips and pretend that all he wants is my heat and my tongue in his mouth. I know better. I come home—and the look on his face when I call it “home” says it all—and he lifts me off my feet to kiss me. He holds me like he’s afraid to lose me, and in these moments I know he loves me though he’d never admit it. He’ll tell me that he needs me, or that he wants me, because that’s easy for him.

But desire does not smile slow in the morning, stretch and groan like its bones are getting old at twenty five, kiss your cheek and murmur something sweet about staying in bed for once, about just staying. It doesn’t know your favorite wine and go out of its way to find it, or dry your hair when you come in from the rain, laughing at how much you look like a drowned rat and asking how you got caught in such a downpour and where the hell did your boots go this time? It doesn’t say your name soft like an oath, or hold you just to hold you, or fall asleep with its head on your shoulder and its fingers laced with yours.

How he thinks I don’t know is a mystery.

But I lie too. I roll my eyes at him and huff and sigh and act like I’ve got better things to be doing when he drags me to those awful parties. But then he introduces me to yet another pretty young woman with gold in her ears and razors in her eyes and calls me his lover and all I am is this buzzing bundle of ecstatic nerves and exasperated smiles, because if I open my eyes I’ll give it all away.

I come to him when I’m broken, when I’m worn, when I need to feel small with his arms wrapped around me and I’ve gone so long without real sleep that I only close my eyes to cry. He’s always waiting, and he says: “stay, please, don’t go.”

I say: “I won’t” and we mean the same thing.


End file.
